


Do Me Proud

by Deliophobia (Kiss_Shining)



Series: Until You Drown [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Abuse of italics, Alternate Universe, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, No Plot/Plotless, Offhand Fic, Pre-Relationship, Squick, Unbeta-ed, Violence, Your very much needed dose of exposition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiss_Shining/pseuds/Deliophobia
Summary: Eighteen may have taught Pan how to kill, but Trunks taught her how to be merciful.





	Do Me Proud

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tangentially related prequel of an unwritten story that I have yet to start. It’ll make more sense when I actually upload _Until You Drown_ on my main account. Which probably won't be uploaded for a long time...at least, not until I'm done with one of my current stories or until the outline for UYD is at least somewhat complete.
> 
> Squick is, despite the pre-relationship tag, there precisely because this takes place before a romantic relationship. Nothing happens, but it's a precaution, I suppose. This is an A/U, but they are their canon ages.

Bulma Briefs was a woman of double standards. It was perfectly fine if she threw her two loving children to the wolves, but if it was anyone else, then oh no, it was _much_ too egregious for them to ever join the family, much less serve in it. Under most circumstances, this would have been a bone of contention for Trunks who had no choice but to follow in his mother’s footsteps.

Pan was different.

Born from Son Gohan, the family’s financial advisor, and Videl Satan, an upcoming model and martial artist, Pan was someone who was only tangentially related to the family. It was true that Goku was Bulma’s right hand man, and he had willingly roped both of his sons into his business, but Videl and Gohan made a conscious decision to shield Pan from his work as much as possible, and Bulma respected that. Still yet, because of the strange relationship the two of their families shared, Pan ended up being exposed to it anyways.

Trunks was fourteen when Pan was plopped onto his lap by his mother. _Take care of her for me, will you_, she had said, tossing him a fleeting glance before she threw on a denim jacket, fastened a gun on her hips, and left their house. He hadn’t even had a chance to argue about it—didn’t she realize that he had his own life as well?—and he was stuck babysitting his friend’s daughter for three hours. Days, weeks, months, and then years went by, with Trunks becoming more and more enveloped in his mother’s work, still dutifully taking care of Pan, watching as she grew and became more curious about the world around her, and after one mission gone sour, four year-old Pan padded up to Trunks’ bloodied body and asked if he was dying.

“_No, I’m fine_,” he had reassured her, rubbing her head. “_Just a little tired_.”

“_Why_?”

“_There’s a lot of work to do_,” he said. “_It’s nothing for you to worry about_.”

But for some reason, it was always so hard to convince Pan about anything, and she had volunteered to help him with his work. He choked so hard that his eyes had almost started to tear, and he had told her quite vehemently that he didn’t need her help, none whatsoever, the gesture was sweet but he promised that he was fine, just fine. Maybe he was a bit too firm with how he said it—he just wanted her to stay safe and happy without her having to ever dirty her hands—because her cheeks swelled so big that her eyes were barely visible, and holding back hiccups, she ran from Capsule Corp to god knows where. Trunks had stumbled to his feet and chased after her, but she was long gone from him and he was incredibly tired, so much so that he couldn’t even fly. Thankfully, she ended up being safe; she managed to weave her way to the Kame House without a single scratch. On that day, Trunks was overbearingly grateful to all of the gods in the Otherworld. He hadn’t known what he would have done if something happened to her.

He should have figured that it was too easy for it to end so nicely.

Two weeks later, when someone had dared to infiltrate into the headquarters of the infamous 7ZC, it wasn’t Trunks who had incapacitated him; it was Pan, four year-old Pan who could barely run without tripping over her own laces, Pan who was scared of bumble bees and spiders and hated anything slimy. That Pan was the one who ran into the kitchen to get a butter knife and slit it through the man’s jugular vein and to back of his head. To make matters worse, when he was on the brink of death, she snapped his neck to the side and pushed his much too heavy body away. She looked to him for approval as if she did a job well done, and Trunks felt his heart sink.

“_Pan_,” he had gasped, bending down and rubbing the splattered blood from her hair, “_how could you do that_?”

When she heard how distraught he sounded, her face crumbled.

“_But Miss Eighteen said…_”

Trunks had immediately realized what happened, and his face grew even paler. On the day that she had run away to the Kame House, she must have told her story to Android 18. And Eighteen must have been all too willing to teach her, seeing that she had potential to become like her. Trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible, he had scooped Pan into his arms and asked her—near begged her—never to do that ever again. For him, he pleaded, and she seemed put out, but she slowly nodded her head.

Hand in hand, the two of them had marched to the Kame House the next day, and while she played with Marron, Trunks had pulled Eighteen to the side.

“_What do you think you’re doing? How could you teach a child to kill_?”

She gave him a level look. “_I wasn’t much older than she was_.”

“_That’s_—” Different, he had wanted to say, but it wasn’t. At one point, Eighteen and her brother were both human. Before Dr. Gero abducted the two orphans away for his own nefarious purposes, before he conducted unspeakable experiments to their body, before Goku, Vegeta, and Bulma broke into one of his lesser laboratories and stole all of his information, including the two of them, before Bulma reprogrammed them to work for her, Eighteen had been human. But now she only held a similitude of humanity. She barely held a conscious, much less a moral compass, and with her slaughtering complete innocents at the age of five she didn’t see anything wrong with her actions. If things had been different, Pan could have been like her.

He had swallowed, uneasily staring at a corner of their small living room.

“_Would you have taught Marron how to do that_?”

“_In a heartbeat, if she was as desperate as that girl was_,” she had replied, glancing at Pan, who was observing them owlishly. “_If she wouldn’t take no for an answer, then I would gladly teach her what I know_.”

“_Pan is sweet, but she’s immature_,” Trunks retorted back, his fists clenching at his side. “_You can’t just do that to her. She doesn’t even know what she’s done, but when she realizes it, it’ll haunt her for the rest of her life_.”

“_Give the girl more credit than that_,” Eighteen said, waving her hand dismissively. “_She’s much more aware you think. Do you even know the reason why she asked me to teach her how to fight_?” She pointed a finger at him.

“_For you, Trunks. She wanted to become strong enough so she could help you_.”

Trunks’ eyes widened. At that moment, he had realized that he was the reason that she was getting into this mess. He should have never let her see him like that; he had been the one who, in the end, exposed her the most, and he had been the one to influence her. After Gohan and Videl painstakingly kept her away from the family, from anything even remotely having to do with violence or bloodshed or corruption…he had been the one to ruin all of their efforts.

He had been determined to fix it, but Pan was already set in her ways, no matter how much he tried to convince her to stop training with Eighteen. Saying that she was too young for it only resulted in her trying even harder, saying that she would regret it only resulted in her snidely replying that she should be able to do what he does, and saying that he didn’t want her to do what he did only resulted in an argument, of which she resolutely answered that it was her life to do with as she pleased. She had no idea what she was getting into, but she was too stubborn to listen to anyone who wouldn’t agree with her.

A few more weeks passed by, and Trunks had been so close to telling Gohan and Videl the truth. He wanted to tell them how much he messed up, how he allowed their only daughter to become a murderer. It was a matter of time before Bulma found out; as it was, on that day that she slew that intruder, Trunks had to work for the rest of the afternoon cleaning up the evidence, and it was only by the skin of his teeth that he managed to pull it off.

He didn’t want Pan to do the tasks he had to do. He didn’t want her to see how disgusting and ugly the world could really be.

Gohan and Videl had found out regardless. For months, Pan wasn’t allowed to return to Capsule Corp, but they all knew that she still snuck out to train with Eighteen, and no amount of punishments and timeouts stopped her. She became stronger as months passed, and by her sixth birthday, she was strong enough that Bulma, who at this point knew everything that happened, politely inquired for Pan to unofficially serve the family.

“_I promise that I won’t give her anything dangerous_,” she had said, and she even offered a contract to Gohan and Videl to back her claims. “_And her duties to 7ZC will come after her personal life. She’ll be like you, Gohan_.” She even gave a little smile, probably aiming to be innocuous, but everyone in that room knew better. “_Think about it, okay_?”

Another six months strained by, and Trunks hadn’t heard a word one way or another from anyone. He had already gained Gohan’s forgiveness—Gohan had never really been angry at Trunks to begin with; he was angry at himself and how everything turned out— he just didn’t want there to be any more accidents that would cause things to spiral out of control even further. But the world that Pan lived in was a very delicate one: almost everyone around her was, in some way, a part of the undercurrent of the criminal ring that kept East and West City afloat. She was the only one in the family who remained blissfully ignorant, and as long as nothing tipped the odds against it—that tip being Trunks—it would have remained that way.

But then he got a phone call from her elementary school.

When he had been still actively babysitting Pan, Trunks placed himself as her emergency contact. Outside of his role as the family’s financial advisor, Gohan was a professor at a local university. He barely had time for himself, much less for his family. Videl had more free time than Gohan did, but she travelled a lot more than he did. Goku didn’t usually leave Vegeta’s side unless something dire happened, and Vegeta didn’t leave Bulma’s side unless he was properly discharged from his post, which was rare. So Trunks was the one who found himself picking Pan up from school and taking her to school. Goten had taken up that role when Trunks was unable to take care of her, but his phone had went to voicemail, which left the responsibility up to Trunks. Almost immediately, Trunks had dropped everything he was doing to see if she was okay.

She had been. The children who apparently bullied her had not.

The best of the five was nursing a broken leg and a dislocated shoulder. The second best was wailing in pain because of his irregularly bent fingers and his missing ears. And the rest…

The rest were in unspeakable shape. One of them was even dead.

Parents had been called, conferences had been held, and the police had been notified. And when the police had been notified, Bulma had been as well. She was, after all, the driving force behind the law. Most Intel on criminal activity—or any abnormalities in general—passed through her, no matter how small. She had gotten them to look the other way in exchange for a few favors, conveniently twisted arguments, and little bit of monetary incentive. Everything had been wrapped up rather nicely, but Trunks hadn’t felt that way as he walked Pan home.

He had stopped the two of them at one of East City’s parks and sat them both on a bench.

“_You don’t feel sorry for what you’ve done, do you_.”

Pan had sniffed, folding her arms petulantly.

“_Why should I? They started it_.” She kicked a pebble on the ground. “_I didn’t do anything wrong_.”

“_Pan…you can’t just hurt people like that. Fighting should be a last resort_.”

“_Why? You do it too, don’t you_?”

He swallowed.

“_That’s…that’s different_.”

“_How is it different? Don’t you beat up people too_?” She had leaned forward a little closer, resting her hands inches away from Trunks’ legs. “_No one ever tells me anything, but I can tell. Grandpa Goku beats up people too. He smells like rotten oil when he comes over. And Uncle Goten always has blood on his pants_.”

“_We’re not doing it because we like to or want to, Pan. We’re doing it because it’s our job_. _That’s what makes it different.”_

“_Then when I get stronger and I can fight with you one day, would it be okay then_?”

“_No, it wouldn’t be_.” Trunks had sensed his chance, and he faced her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “_Let me tell you something. We aren’t good people, your grandfather, your uncle, my father and me. What we do isn’t something to strive for; it’s something to stay far, far away from. So don’t look to become stronger for us. Don’t train to kill like us. Alright_?”

She hesitated, staring at her feet.

“_But…but I wanna help you. I don’t wanna be left out anymore. I don’t wanna be stuck playing dolls with Marron when I could be doing cool things like Bra_.”

“_Then we can do cool things together. I’ll train you myself_,” he had said, and smiled when her eyes lit up. “_On the condition that you won’t do what you did today ever again. Not even for self-defense. If a bunch of bullies corner you, fly away. When you learn the value of a life, then I’ll allow you to fight. Can you promise me that_?”

She had quickly agreed, and Trunks breathed a sigh of relief. The two of them had walked home hand-in-hand that day, Pan occasionally skipping ahead of him. It reminded him of how they used to be, before Pan saw him near his lowest and took it upon herself to blindly follow after him. They used to walk together just like this, Pan balancing three scoops of ice cream on a sticky cone, giggling whenever she got a dab on her nose. For a moment, Trunks had thought that maybe the situation could have be contained.

And then he had walked home to a somber Gohan and a triumphant Bulma, and he knew that things were far from over.

* * *

Pan was ruthless and efficient, just like Android 18 had taught her to be. On her first mission, she had plummeted her enemies to an inch of their lives—only stopping because Trunks had commanded her to—and she retrieved the USB drive with chubby, grimy fingers. She had tilted her head towards him, gauging his reaction. He had told her not to fight until she understood the value of a life, after all, and it was clear to both of them that she still had not. But at the same time, Bulma had given her permission to use deadly force, and Trunks knew that her word was absolute. It was only because of that that he hadn’t said anything. He already knew what he was going to do.

On that weekend, Trunks brought her a small calico cat, one that rubbed on her feet and jumped in her lap, curling itself on her legs. She squealed, hugging it tightly and petting its fur, thanking Trunks a million and one times for buying it for her. Her adoring gaze made him feel slightly guilty, but he wouldn’t take it back. This was for her good in the long run.

Autumn and winter came and left, and spring was just on the horizon. Just a few months after spring began, the cat became irritable, restless. It wanted to sow its wild oats, and it let everyone know it, yowling obnoxiously loud whenever midday hit. A week passed by, then two, and one day, Pan looked at Trunks helplessly.

“What do we do? Is he okay?”

He smiled at her. “Of course he is. He just wants to go outside.”

“Why?”

“Hm, that’s a good question.” He leaned back on his heels, thinking of an appropriate response to say. “He smells others like him, and he wants to be friends with them.”

“Aren’t I enough?”

“You are,” he affirmed, “but cats want to be spoiled. They want more than just a place to stay and a nice person to be with. It’s in their nature to find other cats.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s let him go!” She ran to the front door, her pet following her eagerly, and then she paused. “…He’ll come back, won’t he?”

Trunks nodded. “He already scented your house, so he’ll know exactly where to come back to. He might even bring some of his friends back here.”

Excited, her eyes sparkled, and she flung the door open. Her calico cat cocked its head up at her before rubbing its neck on her toes and running out and down a corner. Pan ran after him, waving her hands, calling out, “Make sure you come back soon!”

He did come back soon. Too soon.

As Trunks expected of a housecat, it didn’t know how to survive by itself in the wild. Housecats were heavily dependent on their masters to feed them and take care of them, and they would be nothing but fodder in the eyes of a feral animal that has fended for itself for ages.

Four months later, it was dead on Pan’s doorstep, warm and wet, bleeding from a grueling wound on the side of its ribs.

Her scream pierced the lull of the neighborhood, and she fell on her knees, shaking the cat, blood seeping into the palm of her hands. Despite anticipating that this would happen, Trunks felt remorseful, and as he approached her from the kitchen, he bent down next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it once. He gently told her that the cat was no longer alive, and she grabbed him by the front of his shirt, begging him to fix it.

“I can’t,” he said. “Once a life is gone, it can’t come back.”

“But—but! That’s not fair.”

“Maybe so, but that’s why life is so sacred. Whenever a living creature dies, there is always someone who is left behind. Just like how he left you here.” He held her close, blood and all, and accepted the tears and snot on his chest. “No one is an island on this earth, Pan. That’s why you shouldn’t be so quick to kill another person. There will always be someone who is grieving over their death, just like you are right now.”

She stiffened.

“…Andrew.” She pulled back and stared at him, realization tainting her eyes. “Do you think someone cried for Andrew too?”

Andrew, the child who bullied her almost two years ago. The second person that Pan had murdered in cold blood.

“Yes,” he answered definitively, and her fists trembled. “I’m sure that someone cried for him. I’m sure that a lot of people cried for him. And I’m sure that there are still people crying for him, even right now.”

Her eyes lowered, and she bit her lip. A drop of blood glistened her bottom lip.

“Oh. I see.”

After that, the two of them quietly buried the cat in her backyard, decorated by a dozen of smooth stones from the river, makeshift incense that Videl stowed away in her cabinet, and a handful of wild flowers. Pan knelt in the grass silently, her cheeks blotched and damp, rubbing at the dirt where the cat laid in peace.

She remained lifeless for a very long time. Whether it was because she was contemplating the consequences of her actions or because her pet died, Trunks didn’t know. But he knew that at this point, Pan understood how it felt to lose something. It wasn’t the kindest way to teach her to value life, but experience wasn’t the best teacher because it was kind. Experience was the best teacher because it was unrelenting and excruciating. She wouldn’t act so callously ever again.

But even so, it still ached his heart to watch her.

* * *

Three years had passed, and Pan had gotten over the loss of her first and last pet. She became haphazard over time, and Trunks quietly worried for her, even though he knew he had no right to. She was cheerful enough: she was loud and boisterous, calling attention to herself whenever she entered a room, but on her missions she ended up getting herself badly injured, even just to sneak into a foreign base.

She would come back with bruises and scratches at least, and on multiple occasions strained muscles and broken bones. Whenever someone questioned her about it, she would wave it off with, “I’m fine, I’m fine. I’m alive, right? It’s fine, don’t worry about me.” It was never because she was beaten by someone else; it was always because she never got out of a bomb-infested building on time, or because one of the laser beams just so happened to nick her. She was no less capable at her job, but she got hurt a lot more often. It was usually up to Trunks to keep her safe.

But no matter how careless she became, or how many people she had to face, she never killed anyone again. If someone were to die, it was because Trunks gave the last blow, not her. Sometimes she’d give him a strange look at that, and sometimes she’d get close to ending an enemy herself only to shrug and say, “What? I didn’t kill him,” but she kept true to her promise. She was brutally humane, even going as far as to save innocents and small animals that happened to get caught in the crossfires, and despite her disregard for herself, Trunks was proud of her.

He couldn’t stop her from joining the family, but he stopped her from going down the same road that he did. She may have had to fight and give up her life, but she didn’t have to carry the guilt of slaying hundreds of people on her back. Her hands were a little charred, but they were clean.

It wasn’t what anyone wanted, but just that small distinction was enough, and he was satisfied with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Maan, I have to keep going back and correcting stuff. I should really get into the habit of looking over my stories for once lmao.
> 
> (God, I knew this would happen. I come back and I'm not satisfied with this story at all. I won't delete it though--Trupan needs all the love it can get, but maybe I'll make a second version in the indeterminate future.)


End file.
